


it's been months and you summon me at an ungodly hour what is this madness

by theworldabouttodawn



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, this is dumb af, tumblr prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldabouttodawn/pseuds/theworldabouttodawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by tumblr user xchrononautx: "Bard is summoned to mirkwood, met at the gates by guards who lead him to thranduil. Bard assumes this is an emergency and is anxious as shit. Turns out thranduil's just dragged him here to show off his mirkwood home and to woo the bowman."</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's been months and you summon me at an ungodly hour what is this madness

**Author's Note:**

> So Barduil's kind of taken me by storm (even more so than Solangelo and Davekat) and I already have a Barduil blog. Ugh these two just give me so many feels and fuzzies and I'm kind of just like YAS
> 
> This dumb thing was pretty quickly written (and is also my first foray into Tolkien shipping fanfic).

He’s just about to settle down for the night when the knock comes on the door – sharp, imperious, and commanding. Sounds like the Master’s men, he thinks. Three curious heads poke out over the bannister but he waves for them to “don’t worry about it, go to bed, I’ll deal with it.”

Yanking the damp and creaky door open, his mouth is already open and forming words like “please kindly fuck off I’m trying to put my children to bed” when he realises that, instead of the bedraggled, scowling, unkempt soldiers he expects, there are three elves standing in his doorway. A raven-haired female (at least he thinks the elf is female, it’s hard to tell) who looks to be their leader steps forward and says, “King Thranduil requests your presence.”

Immediately, Bard’s heart leaps into his throat. He hasn’t heard from Thranduil in months, and all of the (admittedly quite sparse) reports coming out of the forest tell of an ever-increasing danger in the giant spiders. “Right now?” he asks, quickly and somewhat sharper than he really intends to be.

The elf nods solemnly. “Yes. We can accompany you, if you so wish.”

He shakes his head. “No. I prefer to travel alone.” Darting back into the house, he grabs a few things – his bow and quiver, for one, as well as some food. Before he goes down the stairs to the barge (that, for some reason, happens to be the quickest mode of travel available to him right now), he calls to Bain, “I have to go away for a while. Can you look after your sisters until I get back?”

“Yes, Da.” Bard’s back is turned to his son, but he can hear the pride in his voice at being put in charge. 

Shaking his head at this (Sigrid’s going to whip him into shape), he quickly gives his children bear hugs and bids them good night before getting into the barge, untying the rope and pushing off, trying to go as fast as possible.

_Thranduil’s lived for hundreds of years,_ he tries to tell himself. _He’s got centuries of battle experience. He’s fine. He’ll always be fine. He’s just been busy lately._ Nevertheless, the majority of his brain is rebelling against common sense and logic, telling him to _hurry up, he’s dying, you need to get there as fast as possible or you’ll never see him again, come on, Bard, get it together._

Physically, the journey down the river isn’t labour-intensive at all, but Bard’s still exhausted from worry when he finally arrives at the forest. He’s greeted by the raven-haired elf and one of her companions, who remarks, “You could have journeyed faster if you had come with us, Bowman. Come now, the king awaits you.”

Bard sighs, unwilling (or unable) to contest the statement. As he follows the two elves into the trees, he responds, “Maybe I could have. It doesn’t matter now. What does Thranduil want?”

No response. Both elves remain stoically silent.

Cursing to himself, he hurries to catch up with them and kind of just inserts himself between them, asking anxiously, “Tell me this. Is he all right, at least?” 

Still no response. However, he catches the two exchanging sly smirks, and with a huff of anger, strides ahead of them. _The love of my life could be on the verge of death and all they do is_ smirk _at me?_

Quickly (perhaps due to the sheer amount of anxiety building in Bard’s body), they reach the Elvenking’s halls in the heart of the forest. Bard’s crossing his fingers, hoping that the two elves don’t show him to an infirmary or bedroom or something like that because then there’s no hope left, then he knows he’s going to lose his treasure…

He’s led to the throne room.

Thranduil’s lounging upon his throne in crimson and silver robes, resplendent as always, and even more radiant than Bard’s memory makes him out to be. Waving a hand at the two elves accompanying the human, he says, “Dismissed, Laradhel and Elleren. I believe there is a patrol out; they may be in need of your assistance.” Presumably, Bard’s escorts leave, but he’s too distracted by the sight of a beauty he has not beheld in months to notice anything around him.

Rising from his seat, the Elvenking descends the steps down to Bard’s level, shedding his cloak in a fluid motion that’s at once impossibly sensual and beautifully innocent. In an action that is unexpectedly gentle and soft, he strokes Bard’s cheek. “My dear, sweet, wonderful, glorious Bard,” he murmurs.

Bard leans into the smooth touch, intoxicated by Thranduil’s presence, his hand unconsciously rising to clasp the elf’s. But then his mind returns and he pulls away, both in accordance with and against his better judgement. “What the hell was that all about? What were you thinking, sending your soldiers to me at an unholy hour and rushing me all the way out here for no good reason? Here I was, worrying that you were lying at the brink of death, and I find you sitting here, perfectly fine and healthy like the magnificent bastard you are!”

In response to this tirade, his beloved only grins, a rare occurrence that seems to light up everything around him. “It has been far too long since I saw you last, and you have never seen the glory of Greenwood the Great before.”

Shaking his head in simultaneous amusement and disapproval, Bard replies, “I had no wish to see your realm, Thranduil, and you never come to the riverbend any more. It’s not my fault –”

And here he is cut off by a pair of strong arms encircling his waist and fierce, cruel, beautiful, delectable lips devouring his own.

Bard decides that he forgives his Elvenking.

**Author's Note:**

> Barduil blog over at thranduilsbowman.tumblr.com


End file.
